The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [111]
“This one, alas, does. Don’t answer it.”
“I shan’t, my lord. Never fear.”
“But ye gods! It gripes my soul to think of him sneaking through the corridors of the dun. There are times when even natural dignity fails a man, and when he makes a fool of himself over a lass is one of them.”
“True spoken. Maybe he sent someone else to deliver it.”
“I’ll hope so.”
Yet later Lilli wondered, when she was thinking over what Nevyn had told her, if not answering would only provoke Maryn further. She could not honestly say if she feared or hoped that it would.
Despite the rain the silver daggers had an easy ride down to Cerrmor and reached the dun after an eightnight on the road. Since the prince had sent speeded couriers ahead of them, Lord Tammael, the chamberlain, had their old barracks ready. They turned their horses over to the servants, stowed their gear, then went to the great hall for the evening meal.
It was just sunset, and the last bloom of light gilded the pale slate roofs of the towers. A sea breeze caught the pennants and snapped them out, while the Red Wyvern banners on the walls swelled and rustled. The ward stood empty and quiet, the cobbles freshly swept. The men walked slowly, in deference to Red-haired Trevyr’s limp, and spoke only in low voices, as if they were afraid to break this moment of peace.
“I’ll miss Cerrmor,” Maddyn said.
“It’s a better place to be barracked, truly,” Branoic said. “Dun Deverry crimps a man’s soul.”
In the great hall candles glimmered; in both hearths peat fires smouldered to keep the autumnal chill off the stone walls. Up on the dais, at the table of honor, the princess and her women were already seated, wearing dresses of bright silks, green, gold, blue. The silver daggers reclaimed their old places at the tables directly below. Maddyn took the message tubes out of his shirt and walked over to the dais. When the princess acknowledged him with a nod, he bowed to her.
“Letters from Nevyn, Your Highness.”
“Oh, splendid!” Bellyra said. “Here, page! Fetch those from Maddyn, will you?”
A boy trotted over, and Maddyn handed the letters up.
“Did you have a decent ride down?” Bellyra went on. “I didn’t expect to see my escort so soon.”
“We did, Your Highness. Your husband’s vassals gave us shelter and suchlike, so the horses never tired.”
“Good, good. You’ll have a slower ride back, no doubt. Lord Tammael convinced me that we need to travel by barge.”
“That’s wise, Your Highness. You’ll want to bring some of your fine furnishings with you. Dun Deverry’s a poor sort of place these days. It’s seen too much fighting.”
The three women exchanged grim glances.
“My thanks for the warning,” Bellyra said. “But don’t let me keep you standing there. You must be good and tired. Do sit down and have some ale and suchlike.”
“My thanks.”
The rest of the silver daggers were already tearing into chunks of bread and washing them down with Cerrmor’s good dark ale. Maddyn took his place at the head of the table nearest the dais. As captain he had a proper chair, and it was good to lean back comfortably with a tankard.
“The princess looks well,” Branoic remarked.
“She does at that. I’m glad to see it.”
The two serving women were discussing some matter, perhaps the furnishings, but Bellyra had opened Nevyn’s letters and was reading them, holding them up at an angle to catch the last of the sunlight in the room. Her pale hair, caught back in a little kerchief as casually as a farmwife’s, rippled down nearly to her waist and glimmered in the light. She was frowning, her striking green eyes narrowed in thought as she read, but now and again she smiled, no doubt at some jest of Nevyn’s.
Branoic had just said something to him. Maddyn turned to him with a smile.
“What?” Maddyn said. “Sorry.”
“Do you want more ale? The lass is here with the flagon.” Branoic jerked his thumb in the general direction of the servant girl.
“I don’t, my thanks. I’ve barely tasted this.”
“So I thought. Is somewhat wrong?”
“It’s not. I’m tired, truly, after the long ride down. I’m not as old as