Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [212]
“I did,” said Liss. “Several times.” She lowered her voice to Ista. “It’s all right. I had a great-aunt who grew very confused in her age like this, poor thing.”
“I am not,” Lady dy Hueltar began in rising tones, then stopped. She started again. “It’s much too dangerous. I beg you to reconsider, dear Ista. My lord dy Baocia—as the head of the family now, it’s your place to insist she be more sensible!”
“Actually,” Ista noted, “he’s been head of the family for a decade and a half.”
Dy Baocia snorted, and muttered under his breath, “Aye—anyplace in Baocia but Valenda . . .”
Ista took Lady dy Hueltar’s hand and set it firmly on her brother’s arm. “I’m sure you’re very tired, dear lady, to have ridden so far, so fast, for so little need. But my brother will see you safely on your way back home tomorrow—or possibly tonight.”
“I have already moved my things here—”
Ista cast an eye at the piles of luggage. “The servants will move them back. I will speak with you more later, dy Baocia.” With a few more not terribly gentle hints, Ista maneuvered them both out the door. Her last hope of support from dy Baocia failing, Lady dy Hueltar moved off with him in a cloud of mutual exasperation, looking very crushed.
“Where did that woman come from?” Foix asked, shaking his head in wonder.
“I inherited her.”
“My condolences.”
“She’ll be all right. My brother will find some other corner of the family to tuck her into; it won’t please her as well as a higher household, but perhaps she’ll get some satisfaction out of parading her former glories. She doesn’t batten, you know; in certain narrow ways, she makes herself quite useful. It is sad, though, that she herself destroys the gratitude that ought to be her reward.”
Foix glanced at Liss, whose face was a trifle set. He said, “I find my gratitude quite limited, I’m afraid.”
Liss tossed her braid. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Was she trying to convince you that I’d dismissed you?” asked Ista.
“Oh, yes. It made her quite cross when I played the fool and failed to take her hints.” Liss’s mouth twitched up, then down. “It’s true, though. I’m not a proper highborn lady.”
Ista smiled. “I expect we shall rendezvous with Iselle and Bergon’s court before the year is up—in Visping, if not sooner. At which point, by my request and your valiancy, a lady you shall be made in fact—Sera Annaliss dy . . . what was the name of that sheep-infested village, again?”
Liss breathed, “Teneret, Royina.”
“Sera Annaliss dy Teneret, lady-in-waiting to the Dowager Royina Ista. Sounds very dignified, don’t you think, Foix?”
He grinned. “Aye—I think m’mother will like it quite well. Well, Bastard knows I’ve got to offer something, now, to make it up to her for, er, the Bastard.”
“Ah, you aspire to some social climbing, do you? Well, it’s not impossible; this year will offer young officers many opportunities for advancement, I suspect.”
Foix swept Liss a courtier’s bow. “May I aspire, lady?”
Liss eyed him with smiling speculation, and drifted across the chamber to start putting Ista’s things in order. “Ask again in Visping, dedicat.”
“I shall.”
ISTA HAD DY CABON BRING GORAM TO HER IN THE STONE COURT. SHE sat in the colonnade’s shade on the bench where they had first spoken, and studied the differences.
Goram dy Hixar’s clothing was still that of the groom, his figure still short, his legs still bowed, his beard still grizzled. But he had lost the turtle hunch; he moved now with a swordsman’s balance. And tension. His polite bow was supple enough for any provincial court.
“Learned dy Cabon has told you, I think, of my need for a master of horse, yes?” Ista began.
“Yes, Royina.” Dy Hixar cleared his throat, uncomfortably, and swallowed his spit in her presence. Goram, she thought, would have let the gobbet fly.
“Can you undertake the task?”
He grimaced. “The work, aye. But Royina . . . I’m