A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [138]
“You see them, too?” Maer whispered.
“Of course.” The man called Cal smiled and held out his hand. “Friends?”
“Done.”
They shook hands solemnly; then Cal hurried after the others to be presented to the lord.
“Ganedd, my friend, if it were in my power to ennoble you, I would,” Pertyc said. “Since it’s not, and since I don’t have more than a handful of coin to my name, I don’t really know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”
“Well, my lord, if we all get ourselves killed in the spring, repayment’s a moot point, anyway.”
Pertyc laughed and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.
“I like you merchants. So hardheaded, so practical. Well, if I can figure out a way to do it, I’ll repay you anyway, especially if by some miracle we do live through the spring.”
“Then I’ll take it gladly, my lord. Here, the servants should have brought those bows in by now. If his lordship will excuse me, I’ll just go hurry them along.”
“Please do. I don’t think I’ve ever waited more eagerly for anything than I’ve been waiting for those bows. And I need to have a word with my old friend Halaberiel anyway.”
As Ganedd was leaving the great hall, he came face to face with a young woman. With Glaenara—Ganedd stared openmouthed. All bathed and civilized as she was, he hadn’t recognized her for a moment. Even her hair was glossy-clean and growing longer, curling softly around her face. Her hands were clean, too, and her nails nicely manicured.
“What’s wrong, Ganno? Fall off your horse and hit your head?”
“Oh, my apologies, Glae! I, uh, well, just didn’t recognize you. I mean: I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I’m married to Maer now.”
“The silver dagger?”
“Well, he isn’t that anymore.” She hesitated, suddenly distressed. “Ganno, do you still want to marry Braedda?”
“What? Of course.”
“Then you’d best get down to the village today. When your da got back from Aberwyn, you know? He went straight to Braedda’s father and tried to break off the betrothal, but Ewsn, bless him, said he’d wait to speak with you about it.”
Ganedd took her advice and rode down as soon as Pertyc gave him leave, much later that day. The rain had rolled on its way by then, leaving the sunset clean and bright, with a snap of the sea wind and the tang of salt in the air. Round back of his parents’ house he tethered his horse, then climbed over the garden wall and let himself in the back door. Twelve-year-old Avyl was in the kitchen, badgering the cook for a piece of bread and honey. When he saw Ganedd, he smirked. The cook threw her apron over her face and began to weep.
“Oho, so you came home, huh?” Avyl said. “Wait’ll you see Da.”
When Ganedd stalked by, Avyl followed, snickering. The noise brought Moligga out into the corridor. She took one look at Ganedd and began to tremble. Avyl abruptly held his tongue.
“I’m sorry, Mam,” Ganedd said. “But I had to do what I think is right.”
She started to speak, then merely shook her head in a scatter of tears. When Ganedd went to lay his hand on her arm, she drew back.
“Ganno, get out,” Moligga said, almost whispering. “I don’t want your father even seeing you.”
“Indeed? Well, I want to say a thing or two to him. Tell me one thing: how do you feel about this rebellion?”
“Do you think I care one way or another? Oh, ye gods, that ever it would come to this: my lad and my man, at each other’s throats, and ail over a king I’ve never even seen!” Slowly the tears welled, running down her cheeks. “Ganno, he made a declaration before the whole guild and cut you off.”
“I knew he would. Where is he?”
“Don’t.” Moligga caught his arm. “Just leave.”
As gently as he could, Ganedd pushed past her and walked on down the corridor. He flung open the door to his father’s study and marched in without knocking. Wersyn rose from his writing desk, his fingers clasping a leather-bound ledger, and gave him a sour little smile.
“Who are you? Strange—you remind me of my dead son.”
For a moment, Ganedd couldn’t breathe. Wersyn went on smiling. The silence hung as thick as sea fog in the tiny chamber.
“Then