Kestenyi House. I should think you’d respect the feredhai, your own—”
“Don’t start that!” he barked, putting his glass down hard.
“Come,” laughed Siski.
“Lady Siski,” he said, breathing hard through his nostrils, “my respect for you is absolute, but I will not stand to be called a feredha by anyone.”
“But you are one,” I said, “if we trace your lineage back far enough! So am I. So are we all.”
It was like running downhill. I waited for him to say it, and he did. “If you weren’t a lady, I’d—”
“Stop!” cried Siski, leaping up.
She seized my hand as I started to draw my sword, and I let it slide back into the scabbard, afraid of cutting her. “Stupid!” she hissed. “You’re making fools of us all!” She was so close I could smell her skin: liquor and summer rain. There was a brief silence, and then the music again, the singers’ repetitive song. The hum of voices resumed, but excited now, subtly energized, Kethina’s eyes sparkling under her pointed brows. “Drink!” Ermali shouted. “Where’s your idiot footman?” And Gastin hurried toward him over the gravel.
Siski caught her breath and gave my wrist a pinch—a single, childish gesture, a brief word in the language of boredom and the schoolroom. It startled me so thoroughly that I laughed. At once I wished I could take my laughter back, for her eyes widened and I knew she would not forgive me. Then she laughed, too. She leaned forward, embracing me gently, her breath warm at my ear, and for an instant I was transported back in time, and the cheap Tevlasi music wrenched my heart, for it was home.
She pulled me close. “You look like a clown,” she whispered.
Very well. I looked like a clown in my old frock. She was right. But I would not be a clown. I would not dance to a Valley tune like our hapless Uncle Veda. When I thought of him in Bain, in the stuffy rooms of the ducal residence, I knew that I had been right to run away. Siski had depressed me with her mysterious illness, Dasya had cut me with his desertion, but it was Uncle Veda who truly broke my heart. He met me at the door smelling of hair oil and fresh steam, squeezed into a figured coat, and I wished that I was dead. I wished I had died before I saw his anxious, sweating face, his lopsided mustache decorated with a pair of beads. He only owned carriage horses—“It wouldn’t be right to keep a proper horse in the city”—and dosed his “cold stomach” with Eilami brandy. Because he was a bachelor, and considered too stupid to deal with young ladies, my Aunt Firvaud had come from the Isle to help me settle in. The two of them led me upstairs to a bedroom crowded with lamps and couches. The window, my uncle informed me, overlooked the gardens.
I put down my things, and he noticed the swordbox. “Oh! Ha, ha! Did you bring that thing? Ha, ha!” he wheezed, leaning on a couch. “A joke,” he explained to my Aunt Firvaud, who regarded me with a searing stare. “Our Tavis used to be so fond of swordplay.”
“ I still am, ” I said, though I did not feel fond of anything. I thought I would never be fond of anything again.
“ So I understand, ” said Aunt Firvaud. Small, with painted lips, she flashed like a jewel in the setting of her elaborate beaded cape. “Veda,” she said then, in a deliberately careless tone, “please leave us. We have things to discuss. As ladies.”
“Naturally!” Uncle Veda said. And he went out, receiving a tiny shock when he touched the doorknob, because of the way his buffed slippers rubbed against the carpet.
Aunt Firvaud, my sharpest and most scornful relative, who hardly allowed us any intimacy with her although she was my mother’s sister, who always insisted on being called “ Teldaire Aunt ” because she was Queen of Olondria, advanced on me with a blazing face. “What has happened?” she demanded. “What is the matter with him?” And I knew that she meant Dasya, and it was as if my
“Don’t start that!” he barked, putting his glass down hard.
“Come,” laughed Siski.
“Lady Siski,” he said, breathing hard through his nostrils, “my respect for you is absolute, but I will not stand to be called a feredha by anyone.”
“But you are one,” I said, “if we trace your lineage back far enough! So am I. So are we all.”
It was like running downhill. I waited for him to say it, and he did. “If you weren’t a lady, I’d—”
“Stop!” cried Siski, leaping up.
She seized my hand as I started to draw my sword, and I let it slide back into the scabbard, afraid of cutting her. “Stupid!” she hissed. “You’re making fools of us all!” She was so close I could smell her skin: liquor and summer rain. There was a brief silence, and then the music again, the singers’ repetitive song. The hum of voices resumed, but excited now, subtly energized, Kethina’s eyes sparkling under her pointed brows. “Drink!” Ermali shouted. “Where’s your idiot footman?” And Gastin hurried toward him over the gravel.
Siski caught her breath and gave my wrist a pinch—a single, childish gesture, a brief word in the language of boredom and the schoolroom. It startled me so thoroughly that I laughed. At once I wished I could take my laughter back, for her eyes widened and I knew she would not forgive me. Then she laughed, too. She leaned forward, embracing me gently, her breath warm at my ear, and for an instant I was transported back in time, and the cheap Tevlasi music wrenched my heart, for it was home.
She pulled me close. “You look like a clown,” she whispered.
Very well. I looked like a clown in my old frock. She was right. But I would not be a clown. I would not dance to a Valley tune like our hapless Uncle Veda. When I thought of him in Bain, in the stuffy rooms of the ducal residence, I knew that I had been right to run away. Siski had depressed me with her mysterious illness, Dasya had cut me with his desertion, but it was Uncle Veda who truly broke my heart. He met me at the door smelling of hair oil and fresh steam, squeezed into a figured coat, and I wished that I was dead. I wished I had died before I saw his anxious, sweating face, his lopsided mustache decorated with a pair of beads. He only owned carriage horses—“It wouldn’t be right to keep a proper horse in the city”—and dosed his “cold stomach” with Eilami brandy. Because he was a bachelor, and considered too stupid to deal with young ladies, my Aunt Firvaud had come from the Isle to help me settle in. The two of them led me upstairs to a bedroom crowded with lamps and couches. The window, my uncle informed me, overlooked the gardens.
I put down my things, and he noticed the swordbox. “Oh! Ha, ha! Did you bring that thing? Ha, ha!” he wheezed, leaning on a couch. “A joke,” he explained to my Aunt Firvaud, who regarded me with a searing stare. “Our Tavis used to be so fond of swordplay.”
“ I still am, ” I said, though I did not feel fond of anything. I thought I would never be fond of anything again.
“ So I understand, ” said Aunt Firvaud. Small, with painted lips, she flashed like a jewel in the setting of her elaborate beaded cape. “Veda,” she said then, in a deliberately careless tone, “please leave us. We have things to discuss. As ladies.”
“Naturally!” Uncle Veda said. And he went out, receiving a tiny shock when he touched the doorknob, because of the way his buffed slippers rubbed against the carpet.
Aunt Firvaud, my sharpest and most scornful relative, who hardly allowed us any intimacy with her although she was my mother’s sister, who always insisted on being called “ Teldaire Aunt ” because she was Queen of Olondria, advanced on me with a blazing face. “What has happened?” she demanded. “What is the matter with him?” And I knew that she meant Dasya, and it was as if my
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