Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [75]
A tall young woman, her face glowing with joy, fairly flew down the stairs. Black hair was braided up from her temples, framing her rose-tinted ivory features, but was freed to ripple like flowing silk over her shoulders. Light linens graced her slim body, and a pale green silk robe with wide gilt-edged sleeves fluttered about her, billowing like a sail as she descended. Arhys jumped from his dappled horse and flung his reins to a groom barely in time to open his arms to the impact of her frantic, fragrant embrace. “My lord, my lord! Five gods be praised, you are come back safe!”
The young soldier had appeared at Ista’s horse’s head and stood ready to help her dismount, but his head turned to mark this play with open, if tolerantly amused, envy in his eyes.
“What an incredibly lovely young woman,” Ista said. “I did not realize Lord Arhys had a daughter.”
He managed to look back around to her, and hurried to hold her stirrup. “Oh, my lord’s daughter does not live here, Royina . . .”
She came about from her dismount, upright on her feet, as Arhys strode up to her, the young woman clinging to his arm.
“Royina Ista,” said Arhys, breathless with pride and a long kiss. “May I have the pleasure and honor of presenting to you my wife, Cattilara dy Lutez, Marchess of Porifors.”
The black-haired young woman dipped in a curtsey of surpassing gracefulness. “Dowager Royina. My household is honored beyond all deserving by your presence here. I hope I may do everything possible to make your sojourn with my lord and myself a memorable delight.”
“Five gods give you a good day, Lady of Porifors,” Ista choked. “I’m sure you shall.”
CHAPTER TEN
F LANKED BY TWO SMILING LADIES-IN-WAITING, THE YOUNG marchess led Ista through a cool, dim archway under the balcony and into an inner court. Ferda and Ista’s medical acolyte followed less certainly, until gestured forward by Lord Arhys. The courtyard was graced by a small marble pool in the shape of a star, its water bright, and more pots of succulents and flowers. Lady Cattilara darted up the stairway to the second-floor gallery and paused to wait, staring in concern as the acolyte helped Ista labor upward on her sore legs. Ferda hurried to lend his arm. Ista grimaced in mingled gratitude and annoyance.
Their footsteps echoed on the boards toward a corner where a short tower loomed, until Lord Arhys stopped abruptly. “Catti, no! Not these chambers, surely!”
Lady Cattilara paused outside the carved double doors her woman had been about to open, and smiled back at Arhys in uncertainty. “My lord? They are the best rooms of the house—we cannot offer the dowager royina less!”
Arhys strode to her side, lowered his voice, and said through his teeth, “Have some sense!”
“But they are swept and garnished for her—”
“No, Catti!”
She stared up at him in dismay. “I—I’m sorry, my lord. I’ll . . . I’ll think of something. Else.”
“Five gods, please you do,” he snapped back, exasperation leaking into face and voice. With an effort, he recovered an expression of bland welcome.
Lady Cattilara turned, smiling stiffly. “Royina Ista. Won’t you . . . come to my rooms to rest and refresh yourself before dinner? Just this way . . .”
She eased back past them, and they all reversed direction toward a similar set of doors on the opposite end of the gallery. Ista found herself, briefly, next to Arhys.
“What is the problem with the chambers?” she asked.
“The roof leaks,” he growled after a moment.
Ista cast a look at the bright blue, cloudless sky. “Oh.”
The men were excluded at these new doors.
“Shall I bring your things here, then, Royina?” asked Ferda.
Ista glanced apprehensively