The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [145]
“Just that.” Salamander’s smile disappeared. “And about a certain noble lord who appears to be caught up in treacherous doings.”
Behind him the manservant with the table linens paused in his work to listen. You can hardly blame him for being curious, Branna thought. Still, she caught Salamander’s glance and made a slight movement of one hand to signal that someone was behind him. The manservant hurried off.
“But I fear me this isn’t the place or the time to say more.” Salamander picked up her hint. “I’ve consulted with Lord Oth.”
“Splendid!” Galla said. “I suggest you follow his lead in this.”
“Indeed,” Solla put in. “He’s the only person my brother will listen to.”
“Then I shall put my trust in him, my ladies. Ah—here comes our Neb now.” Salamander was looking past Branna. “Neb! Well met, indeed! Congratulations on your betrothal!”
On a tide of chatter Salamander swept Neb and Branna up and floated them away from the ladies at the table. The rest of the Westfolk were just coming in the door, escorted by the gwerbret himself. Branna, Neb, and Salamander stepped back out of the way and let the royal party pass on to the gwerbret’s own table, where Prince Voran sat waiting to receive his equal in rank. Prince Daralanteriel looked much more like a prince should, Branna decided—amazingly handsome, easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, despite his long ears and strange violet eyes. He looks familiar. The thought came to her like a blast of winter wind, chilling her blood. I know him.
Lord Oth trailed behind the gwerbret; he gave Salamander a brief but pointed wave as they passed. Behind him walked an elven woman with long ash-blonde hair and gray eyes. When Salamander gestured her way, she left the gwerbret’s little group and came over to join them.
“Excellent,” Salamander said. “Branna, Neb, this is Dallandra, one of the prince’s most trusted servitors.”
Dallandra smiled pleasantly and murmured a “good morrow,” but Branna felt that the elven woman’s gray eyes were like a pair of daggers, cutting into her soul. Servitor? Branna thought. I’d wager she serves him with dweomer. Aloud, she said, “It gladdens my heart to meet you.”
“My thanks, Lady Branna,” Dallandra said. “And a good morrow to you, Goodman Neb.”
Neb smiled and nodded to acknowledge the greeting. It was all perfectly ordinary, perfectly courteous, but Branna suddenly felt as if words were burning in her mouth, demanding to be spat out.
“Dallandra, I know you, don’t I?” Branna said. “Or I should say, I did know you when—well, once. I mean, before.”
“Ye gods!” Dallandra took a step back in sheer surprise. “You did, indeed.”
“And you.” Branna turned to Salamander. “I just didn’t recognize you at first.”
For a moment Salamander couldn’t speak—a rare enough thing on its own, Branna thought. Chattering elf? Of course, he’s a half-breed! She could also remember having been furious with him, so many long years before, though the reason why had vanished from her mind. Finally he cleared his throat, then glanced nervously at the crowd around them.
“I think we need to talk about such things at a greater length,” Salamander said. “And where it’s quieter, too.”
“True spoken,” Neb said. “The only private place I can think of is our chamber. It’s a bit short on chairs, unfortunately.”
To Branna, Neb’s voice seemed to ring with new authority. He remembers too, she thought. What’s happening to us? She felt as if she stood in some high place just before a storm, when the lightning gleams at a far distance, and the air crackles with alien energy, tempting and dangerous together. I could learn to take that power for my own, Branna thought. And so could Neb.
“The chamber will do,” Dallandra said briskly. “I can barely hear myself think with all these people in here, anyway. I—Wait. Is that Lord Oth now? That gray-haired fellow on his way here.”
It was indeed Oth, who hurried over to Salamander and laid a hand