Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [120]
But lately … not just lately, but since that visit, and more since Kieri’s coronation, Aliam had changed. He had less energy, spent more time resting by the fireside or sitting under a tree. She’d worried that he was sick, but he showed no signs of illness, just a strange lassitude. She’d thought perhaps he missed campaigning, missed the yearly trip to the south. For years he’d gone south every summer with his company to fight, and then, with no explanation, he’d stayed north the summer before, and this one.
She’d had no idea he blamed himself so harshly, so unfairly, for the deaths of Kieri’s wife and children, for the delay in Kieri’s restoration. And yet, day by day he did less, ate less, grew more and more remote …
It wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. Estil pinched off bits of dough, shaped them with practiced hands, sprinkled them with figan, and set them to bake, still thinking hard. It had started with that paladin, or with the Lady, and it had been about Kieri. One of them, surely, would help her. People could grieve to death; she knew that, but it was not going to happen to Aliam. Not while she lived.
The cakes were just out of the oven when she heard the sentry’s warning call. “I must go,” she said.
“Your apron! Your head scarf!” her daughter-in-law said. Estil looked and saw that more than her apron had smudges and streaks of flour from baking.
She dashed for the stairs; Aliam was on his way down. “I have to change,” she said. “I’ll be quick.”
The rain had finally stopped, and late-afternoon light pierced the forest canopy. Somewhere ahead, more light suggested an opening. The Count of Andressat booted his tired horse onward. Probably some peasant’s hut, or another miserable village, though if he were lucky …
Beyond the trees, a swath of green, vivid in the golden light, and a sizable stone keep, not a village … the count looked at it appraisingly. More than a bowshot from the forest wall, neat fences divided grazing land from plow. Cattle in this enclosure, horses in that. An orchard of what must be fruit trees. The keep itself looked nothing like his … but it was stone-built, to its credit, and the roofs were slate, not straw thatch.
A horn call rang out; he had been seen. Not recognized, of course; they would not know who he was until he announced himself. A small troop of men on horseback rode out the gates, keeping a disciplined order he approved. A pennant flew from a pole one of them carried—Halveric’s colors.
As they neared, he saw that the man in the lead was Halveric himself. “My lord Count!” Halveric said. “Be welcome here!”
“You expected me today?” Jeddrin’s brows rose. He had not seen anyone all day, or heard any horn signals.
“Your envoy gave us warning days ago, and one of my outguards sent word more than a glass since.”
Andressat relaxed. A properly managed estate, then, and secure enough that he need not fear, as he had feared every day after leaving home, attack by brigands or other enemies.
“You will be tired from your journey,” Halveric went on. “And I see the rain caught you this afternoon.”
“It has rained every day since I came over the mountains,” Andressat said. “It’s a wonder the whole land isn’t a sea.” He looked more closely at Halveric. The man seemed much older than a few years would account for; he sat his horse stiffly, as if in pain. What had happened? Halveric was younger than he himself … he had always seemed so vigorous. “Your country house looks very comfortable.”
An odd expression crossed Halveric’s face. “Thank you,” he said. “Come on in; Estil’s ready to welcome you.”
Estil. A brother? Surely not his wife … but in a few minutes he saw an outrageously tall woman, dark hair streaked silver, poised at the entrance to the hall. Halveric called her over, even as a servant held the count’s horse. Northerners. Even Halveric, who had seemed so urbane and civilized in Andressat.
The count smoothed his mustaches and bowed over the lady’s hand. “The honor is mine,” he said. She had powdered her hand with something like flour;