Passage - Lois McMaster Bujold [23]
“I must have shelled ten thousand peas, but it kept me from going stir-crazy.”
“You were so pale, at first!” agreed Sal. “I think my cookin’ helped put those roses back in your cheeks.” She patted one, leaving a smudge of flour.
“I think it did, too,” said Fawn, brushing at the flour and smiling.
“That ’n Dag.”
Sal’s smile thinned a bit, and she glanced appraisingly at Whit. “So that patroller fellow with the missin’ hand must have got you home all right, after all.”
Fawn nodded.
“We weren’t too sure on him,” Sal admitted. “Some of us was afraid he’d gone and beguiled you, like they say Lakewalkers can. Though it’s true the ones we get here are usually pretty well-behaved. How they carry on with each other being not our business.”
Fawn raised her chin. “If there was any beguiling going on, I’d say it was mutual. We married each other.”
“He never!” said Sal in astonishment.
Fawn gestured at her brother. “Whit stood witness.”
“Yep,” said Whit. “They said their promises in the parlor in West Blue in front of the whole family, and signed the family book, and everything.”
“Oh, honey…” Sal hesitated, looking troubled. “He was a right disturbin’ fellow, the way all patrollers are, though it was plain he’d took a shine to you, but…I thought better o’ him than that. Don’t you two know that Lakewalkers don’t recognize marriages to us folks? I’m afraid he was pulling the wool over your eyes, and your family’s, too.”
“No, he didn’t,” said Fawn. “We were married Lakewalker-style at the same time—we wove and swapped our binding strings as sound as any Lakewalker couple ever did. See?” She held out her left wrist, wrapped in the dark braid, and wriggled it to let the gold beads on the cord-ends bounce and glimmer, showing it off for the third or fourth time in this evening’s rounds.
“Is that what those are?” said Sal doubtfully. “I’ve seen them hair bracelets on some of the patrollers here, time and time.”
“Wedding cords, yes.”
Whit said, “It’s like they got married twice over. I don’t think Dag was taking any chances by that time. I will say, when he ties a knot, it stays tied.”
Sal’s eyes grew as round as her mouth. “And his people accepted it?”
Fawn tossed her head. “I won’t claim his kin were all happy, but they didn’t say we weren’t married.”
“Well, I never!”
The serving boys bounced in, the scullions called, and Sal had to set aside her fascinated pursuit of this gossip in favor of getting supper ready. She shooed her guests out of her kitchen with visible regret.
In the corridor to the dining room, Whit paused in puzzlement. “Fawn…”
“Hm?”
“Dag’s kin did accept those cords of yours, right? They didn’t claim you were just, um…running around together, right?”
Fawn lowered her voice. “In truth, there were four or five opinions on that. Some took ’em for true, some accused us of trickery, and some didn’t care nohow about the cords, they wanted to deny us any-road. They weren’t just arguing with Dag, mind; they were arguing with each other as well. We kind of set the cat amongst the pigeons with those cords. When we left, I expect it took the urgency out of the debate.” Truly, Dag hadn’t wanted to force a decision, lest it become a quick and simplifying no.
“These rules of theirs—do they make them camp by camp, or everywhere at once?”
“Camp by camp, but the camps stay in touch with one another. Couriers carry patrol reports, plus letters between the camp councils. And folks’ personal letters. And lots of gossip, Dag says. Young patrollers exchange between camps to train up, and parties travel with trade goods. And folks go on visits to kin, sometimes. So news has ways of getting around. Lakewalkers don’t let themselves get cut off from each other.” She frowned. “I do wonder how Dag will go on, away from his people. That’s not natural, for a Lakewalker. They made us both plenty mad, but…I do wonder.”
“Huh,” said Whit.
Whit must have made a good impression on Sal, because the portions soon set