Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [181]
“I will share it with you, who are guardian of the dead and can keep secrets,” Kieri said. “I will burst if I do not. The Lady likes not Arian’s father, a full elf, because she says he has fathered too many half-elf children against her will. She thinks—she said—that Arian must have inherited his irresponsible ways.”
The Seneschal pursed his lips, then shook his head. “That is not what I heard of Arian after she came here, Sir King. As you must know, having had her as your Squire, by all accounts she is as bound to duty as you yourself. Yet the Lady has power with those of elven blood, even a little, and she may have planted doubt in Arian’s heart by enchantment.”
“The Lady lies … that is what my sister’s bones tell me. Could she have lied to Arian?”
The Seneschal sighed, looking down. “It is not for me to say, Sir King. I am of old human stock, as you know—not even much magelord blood in me, and that is why I am guardian to the bones. We lived at peace with the elves long before the magelords came, and in our tales the Lady was always beauty and power combined. But not always what humans would call fair. It is that gift of enchantment, Sir King, by which they entangle our minds and hearts. Is that truth? Is it lies? We cannot tell.”
Kieri had his socks and boots on by then; the Seneschal offered an arm, and he accepted it. “I thank you for your wisdom,” he said. “I must go back to work now, but I will come again.”
“And you are always welcome here, Sir King,” the Seneschal said.
His Squires looked grave, but Kieri managed a smile. “It will be well,” he said. “I cannot say what will happen, or exactly when, but it will be well in the end. I am certain of it.”
He said the same to the Council.
“But will you marry her? And if not her, who?” Hammarrin again.
“You must trust me,” Kieri said. “We have more than one thing to worry about—remember the Pargunese? One thing at a time, please.” He looked at Orlith, sitting as usual in the far corner. “We must all consider the taig in our decisions.” He saw from Orlith’s face that the elf had taken that subtle warning.
With that, he insisted on the Council dealing with the other issues.
The day finally ended. Kieri lay long awake, staring into the darkness and wishing for some helpful vision, but none came. He was left to his own thoughts: his memory of joy, of anger, of grief … and where was Arian this night? Was she safe? Was she as unhappy as he was?
He finally slept, and woke with a headache that seemed to express all his frustration and confusion at once. In the salle that morning, no one referred to the day before, nor did Carlion say anything about his having missed an afternoon session. Kieri kept his attention firmly on the matter at hand, and no one withstood his blade.
Arian raced past Garris without even seeing him, running and leaping over roots and stones as if once more the girl she had been. She knew when Kieri turned to follow; she knew she had enough lead to get away if she did not stop for anything.
Her own horse, the mount she had brought with her back in the spring, had the end stall in the west-most wing of the stable, where the Squires’ horses were kept. She slowed to a jog as she entered the stableyard, waved to the Master of Horse as she went by—a Squire on an errand, he would think. The tack room held travel packs as well as tack; she grabbed hers and went to her horse. As always, one mount was saddled for each Squire, in case of need; she laid her tabard over the stall door, lashed the travel pack to the saddle, tightened the girth, and bridled the long-legged bay, then led him through the yard to the narrow west gate, out of sight of the gate Kieri would enter.
The guard there waved. “Going far?” he asked.
“Later,” Arian said. She mounted and legged the horse into a strong canter. Kieri would know which way she had gone, if he had her followed, but she hoped—she hoped he would not, and she hoped he would.
The bay, frisky in