Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [81]
“You are as much in need of rest as any of us,” she temporized.
“I will rest better when I know what has happened to them.”
She had to allow the truth of that, but the thought of being trapped here without her own escort sent a shiver of unease along her nerves. She frowned in uncertainty as Lady Cattilara fluttered back to her place.
Lord Arhys also returned, to lower himself into his chair with a covertly weary sigh. Ista asked after his letters of inquiry on her missing people’s behalf. He listened in what seemed to Ista especially grave sympathy to Ferda’s concern for his brother, but opined that it was too early for a reply. By tacit agreement, no one mentioned the complication of the bear-demon.
“We know that Liss, at least, found her way to the provincar of Tolnoxo,” argued Ista. “Others might have given warning of the raiders, but only she knew that I was among the taken. And if she made it to safety, she will surely have had the sense to ask for searchers for your brother and the good divine.”
“That’s . . . true.” Ferda’s lips wrinkled, tugged between reassurance and worry. “If they listened to her. If they gave her shelter . . .”
“The chancellery’s courier stations will have given her refuge even if dy Tolnoxo did not, though if he did not reward her courage with a proper hospitality—and her pleas with all aid—he will certainly hear from me about it. And from Chancellor dy Cazaril, too, I warrant. By Lord Arhys’s letters, the world will shortly know where we have fetched up. If our strays find their way to Porifors while you are running about hunting for them, Ferda, you will miss them all the same. In any case, you surely cannot intend to hare off in the dark, tonight. Let us see what counsel—or messages—tomorrow morning brings.”
Ferda had to agree to the sense of that.
A cool twilight was falling in the court. The musicians concluded their offering, but no dancing or masque was presented. The men made sure that the last of the wine did not go to waste, and final prayers and blessings were offered. The divine doddered away on his dedicat’s arm, trailed by his rustic temple’s people. Arhys’s officers made slightly awed courtesies to the dowager royina, seeming honored to be permitted to kneel and kiss her legendary hands. But from the way they strode off afterward, faces already intent upon anticipated tasks, Ista was reminded that this was a working fortress.
Cattilara made to put a helpful hand under her elbow as she rose.
“Now I can take you to your rooms, Royina,” she said, smiling. She glanced briefly at Arhys. “They are not so large, but . . . the roof is in better repair.”
The food and the wine, Ista had to admit, had combined to destroy any ambition of hers for further movement tonight. “Thank you, Lady Cattilara. That would be good.”
Arhys formally kissed her hands good night. Ista was uncertain if his lips were cool or warm, confused by the disturbing tingle their imprints left on her knuckles. In any case, they did not burn with fever, though when he raised his clear gray eyes to hers, she flushed.
Trailed by the usual gaggle of women, the marchess took her arm and strolled with her through another archway beneath the gallery and down a short arcade. They turned again and went under another looming line of buildings to emerge in a small, square courtyard. The evening was still luminous, but overhead, the first star shone in the high blue vault.
A stone-arched walk ran around the court’s edge, the fine alabaster pillars carved with a tracery of vines and flowers in the Roknari style . . .
Neither hot noon nor chill half-moon midnight, but still the same court as in Ista’s dreams, every detail identical, unmistakable, engraved on her memory as if with chisel and awl. Ista felt faint. She could not decide if she felt surprised.
“I think I should like to