Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [88]
“Very well,” she sighed. “Go on, then. But return quickly.”
He offered a strained smile. “Who knows? I may meet them coming down the road from Tolnoxo and be back before nightfall.” He knelt and kissed her hand, gratefully. By the time she drew a second breath, the flapping of his vest-cloak had already vanished out the temple’s doors.
Luncheon, Ista discovered to her dismay, was to be a fête in the dowager royina’s honor in the village square, complete down to a choir of village children offering a selection of songs, hymns, and earnest and not especially rhythmic local dances. Lord Arhys was not present; the young marchess did the honors for the castle, in a warm style obviously much approved by the proud and anxious parents. More than once, Ista caught her looking at the littlest ones with open longing in her eyes. When the urchins had stamped through their last erratic caper, and Ista had had her hands kissed by all and sundry, she was loaded back aboard her horse and permitted to escape. Surreptitiously, she wiped upon the animal’s mane the slimy offering left on her fingers by the waif with the cold. She was by this time almost glad to see that horse. Almost.
DISMOUNTED AGAIN BACK IN THE FLORAL ENTRY COURT, ISTA WAS just trying to decide whether she was annoyed or glad for Lady Cattilara’s delicately worded suggestion that perhaps a lady of the royina’s age would care for an afternoon nap, when a whoop at the gate cried against its closing.
“Hallo, Castle Porifors! Courier from Castle Oby!”
Ista spun on her heel at the familiar, boisterous voice. Riding through the gate on a fat and lathered yellow nag was Liss. She wore her castle-and-leopard tabard, and held up a leather pouch in the official style, its wax seals bouncing on their strings. Her shirt, beneath the tabard, was as wet with sweat as the horse, and her face flushed with sunburn. Her mouth went round as she gazed about at the pots of color and greenery.
“Liss!” Ista cried in delight.
“Ha, Royina! So you are here after all!” Liss kicked loose her stirrups, swung her off leg up over her horse’s neck, and jumped down. Grinning, she knelt courtier-fashion at Ista’s feet; Ista raised her by her hands. It was all she could do not to hug her.
“How came you here, on this horse—did Ferda find you?”
“Well, I came here on this horse, of course, great slug that it is. Ferda? Is Ferda safe? Hallo, Pejar!”
The sergeant-dedicat at Ista’s elbow grinned back broadly. “The Daughter be thanked, you made it!”
“If the tales I heard were true, you all were in worse case than I ever was!”
Ista said anxiously, “Ferda left here not three hours ago—you must have passed him on the road to Tolnoxo, surely?”
Liss’s brow wrinkled. “I came in by the road from Oby, though.”
“Oh. But how came you to be at—oh, come, come, sit with me and tell me everything! How I have missed your currying and grooming!”
“Yes, dearest Royina, but I must first hand off my letters, since I am a courier again for today, and see to this beast. It isn’t mine, five gods be thanked. It belongs to the courier station midway between here and Oby. I should be grateful for a bucket of water, though.”
Ista motioned to Pejar, and he nodded and dashed off.
Cattilara and her ladies drifted up. The marchess smiled in inviting puzzlement at the courier girl, and at Ista. “Royina . . . ?”
“This is my most loyal and brave royal handmaiden, Annaliss of Labra. Liss, make a curtsey to Lady Cattilara dy Lutez, Marchess of Porifors, and likewise these . . .” Ista went down the ranks of Cattilara’s ladies, who goggled at the courier girl. Liss complied with a series of friendly little dips at the string of introductions.
Pejar dashed up with a sloshing bucket. Liss grabbed it in passing