Days of Air and Darkness - Katharine Kerr [57]
Babryan squealed and caught her hand. The others clustered round, Wbridda and Davylla talking, Taurra standing a bit to one side and smiling in a distant sort of way.
“Oh, this was so wonderful!” Sevinna said. “My thanks, Lady Taurra. We must do this for Baba and Bry, too.”
When Davylla slipped her arm through Taurra’s, they began talking about the herbs that they’d used for the rite. Feeling a bit sick, Sevinna walked a few steps away and glanced at their horses, who suddenly stamped and tossed their heads. Something, someone, was moving in the copse. Sevinna stood frozen and wished they’d brought guards as she watched a figure slipping out of the trees and running to the riverbank. Yellow hair, bright in the moonlight, and a flash of silver at the belt—Jill!
“Sevvi, dearest!” Davylla called out. “Come along. We must get back before the chamberlain worries himself into a snit.”
“Of course, my lady. I was just watching the moonlight on the water. So lovely.”
On the ride back, Sevinna decided that she wouldn’t tell anyone about having seen Jill. All of a sudden, she remembered Jill’s warnings about Taurra—so suddenly that she wondered how she could have forgotten them. She would have had little chance to discuss it, anyway, because all the way home Babryan chattered about the rite and begged Taurra to do the same for her.
“Of course, Baba, sweet, but we’ll have to wait till the moon’s perfectly full again. In the meantime, we’ll have some nice chats and teach you what you need to know.”
Babryan smiled, as bright as the Moon herself.
A wedding meant feasts for the noble-born guests and largesse for the poor of the demesne. While Slaecca and Ylaena planned details, Dwaen leaned back in his chair and nursed a tankard of the dun’s darkest ale. Every now and then, when his mother asked his opinion about cost, he would shrug and tell her to spend whatever they had. At length, when the women rose to leave the great hall, Slaecca lingered by his chair.
“Ah, Dwaen, my only hope is that I’ll have the joy of seeing you married, too, before I die, and that might not be long now, at my age.”
“Mam, hold your tongue. Ruses don’t suit you.”
Slaecca snorted and crossed her arms over her chest, but the gods spared Dwaen a tedium. The page burst into the hall and raced over.
“Your Grace!” Laryn was too excited to kneel. “Rhodry the silver dagger is here, and he knows where Lady Mallona is.”
“Ye gods!” Dwaen rose, slamming the tankard down in a spray of ale. “Just Rhodry? Where’s his lass?”
“I don’t know.”
Dwaen raced outside to find Rhodry sitting on the cobbles in the ward. The silver dagger’s hair was plastered slick with road dirt, and his shirt stuck to him with sweat, old and new. Behind him stood his own bay gelding, head down and weary, and a near-foundered roan. When Rhodry tried to get up, he stumbled into a splayed kneel. Dwaen knelt and steadied him by the shoulders.
“What have you done? Ridden all night?”
“Longer than that. Your Grace, we think Mallona’s in Belgwerger, and we’re going to have a cursed rotten time prying her out, too. I’ve come to beg your aid.”
“Granted, of course. Get up. Let’s go inside and get you some food. And then you’d best sleep.”
“Can’t. No time, Your Grace. Jill’s there alone, keeping watch on her.”
Dwaen slipped his arm round Rhodry’s shoulders and helped him stand, then led him inside, yelling at a servant to fetch the silver dagger meat and ale. While he ate, Rhodry told the story of their hunt.
“It truly might be her, mightn’t it?” Dwaen said. “Huh. It looks like great Bel will bring her to justice, after all, and I’ll do everything in my power to help him. Rhodry, I don’t care what you say. You’ve got to get some sleep. I’ve got to send messengers to Coryc and ready my men. We can’t leave immediately, anyway.”
Dwaen sent Laryn upstairs with Rhodry to find him a bed, then called Lallyc over for a conference. He had to send messengers off to Coryc first, then get the men and extra horses ready to travel—and