A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [72]
“Well, I wish I could be, but of course you’re right. All right, then, if that’s all it is.”
It was, of course, a great deal more than that, but this was no moment to turn vulture and dwell upon all those worries that used to trouble older women at a wedding: the slow death of a girl’s youth, the quick death of the little freedom allowed her in life between her father’s house and her husband’s, to say nothing, in those days—hundreds of years before the dweomer taught women to control their pregnancies—of her possible literal death in childbirth or from the simple exhaustion of birthing too many children.
“That’s a nice set of fortune tiles,” Jill said instead. “Did Salamander buy them for you?”
“Yes. Aren’t they lovely?” But she frowned, tilting her head a little to one side. “You know, it was the oddest thing. I saw these in the marketplace, just sitting in their box, and I didn’t pick them up or anything. I didn’t even touch them. But I somehow knew that there was this wine stain on the bottom. And you know what the oddest thing was? Ebañy knew it, too. And he never looked, either.”
Jill’s doubt that the girl might be Alaena reborn vanished.
“Well, odd things like that do happen.” She stood up quickly, before Marka could ask further and touch the edge of secrets. “I think it means you were meant to have them. And meant to have Ebañy, too, most like.”
Marka favored her with a smile as brilliant as the moon at her full.
Later that evening, after the show, when the troupe was eating its midnight meal round a leaping fire, there was a celebration. Vinto was a fine musician, playing the wela-wela, a zitherlike instrument; another of the acrobats played the drum; the flute boy outdid himself, especially since there was plenty of background noise to cover his occasional squeak. Everyone was laughing and singing, toasting Salamander and Marka with cups of red wine and taking turns in wishing them happiness, and even some of the merchants who were sharing the public field drifted over, getting into the spirit of things by bringing stuffed dates and nut cakes and the other traditional gifts for this sort of celebration. After about an hour the noise and the crowd began to get on Jill’s nerves, and when she drifted away for a quiet walk, Keeta and Delya joined her. They found a bench by the public fountain and sat down to watch the water splashing in the moonlight. Although Delya was smiling, a little flushed from the wine and humming a tune under her breath—in fact, she never did add a word to that entire conversation—Keeta looked downright melancholy.
“Ah, well,” she said at last. “At least Salamander looks like he’ll make her a better husband than most.”
“Oh, he certainly will,” Jill said. “I’ve known him a long time, and lean honestly say that.”
“Good. By the way, has he mentioned anything about going to Anmurdio to you?”
“Oh, yes. What do you think of the idea?”
“It’s a good one. The towns over there are so starved for a good show that we should do really well.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I didn’t want to drag the rest of you along only to have it turn out to be a disaster.”
“What I don’t understand, frankly, is how there could be any rare books and things over there for you to find.”
Jill fell back onto a version of the truth.
“There may not be any, indeed. But a long time ago there was a horrible war in the country adjoining our kingdom, and a large band of refugees fled south. Now, they didn’t settle in Bardek proper nor here in Orystinna. What I’d like to know is where they did end up, and what books they brought with them when they fled.”
“I must say that you people seem to have a ghastly lot of wars.”
“Well, yes, I’m afraid so.”
Keeta glanced at her companion and suddenly smiled.
“Delly, you’re just about asleep. Want to go back?”
“Mph?” Delya woke with a start and yawned. “I’m fine.”
“I think we’d best get back.” Keeta got up and held out a hand. “Come along.”
With a nod and apologetic smile in Jill’s direction, Delya rose and allowed herself to be led off to camp.