The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [223]
“And the dun?”
“Attainted and given to a new lord.”
“Who is?”
“By the gods!” Oth was looking at the missive again. “Prince Voran’s ennobled Gerran and made him the head of a new clan. It’ll be the Gold Falcon!”
“Better him than some other man.” Adranna shoved back her chair and stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, my ladies?”
“Of course,” Drwmigga said with a wave of her hand. “But wouldn’t you—”
Adranna was already gone, striding across the hall toward the staircase.
“She can’t have loved that horrid man.” Galla stood, curtsied to Drwmigga, then ran after her daughter.
Branna dispensed with the curtsy and merely ran. She caught up with Galla and Adranna on the landing. The three of them went up to Adranna’s chamber, where Midda was sitting with little Trenni, amusing the child with a game of Carnoic. When her mother came into the room, Trenni looked up from the board.
“Trenni, my love,” Adranna said, “I’ve got the best news in the world. Matto’s alive and coming home with Gran.”
“That gladdens my heart,” Trenni said, but she looked oddly solemn. “Is Da dead?”
“He is,” Adranna said.
“Good.” Trenni turned away and began to study the board with determined concentration.
Adranna had gone pale, and for a moment she swayed where she stood. Branna caught her cousin’s elbow and steadied her. “Let’s go to your mother’s chamber,” she murmured. A nod was the only answer Adranna had the strength to give.
Galla led the way to her chamber. Once inside, Branna barred the door. Adranna sank into a chair and covered her face with both hands. Her shoulders shook, and Branna assumed she was weeping, but in a moment she realized that Adranna was laughing and struggling to stop herself. Galla hovered near her but said nothing. Finally Adranna gave up the futile effort and looked up. Her face had gone dead-pale, and she laughed and laughed in a series of little choking chirps while her hands shook like those of an old woman with the palsy.
“Good, she said.” Adranna forced out the words between coughs of laughter. “His own daughter. Good, she said.”
On the little table stood a half-empty flask of Bardek wine. Branna grabbed the pottery cup from the washbasin and filled it with wine, then forced it between her cousin’s shaking hands. Galla stood behind her daughter and began to rub her shoulders in a slow, soothing rhythm. Adranna managed to drink a few sips, and slowly her laughter stopped. She took one deep breath, then finished the wine in a long gulp.
“I don’t suppose I ever truly loved him,” Adranna said, “but I thought he was a better man than the others I might marry. Once we found our goddess, I felt I’d made the right choice for a certainty, and at times I thought I did love him. But if I ever did, I stopped when he wouldn’t let Matto leave the dun with me and Trenni.”
“In Neb’s letter,” Branna said, “it says that Honelg tried to kill Matto. He said it would be better than his being taken captive.”
“What?” Galla went white around the mouth.
“I’m not surprised.” Adranna held out the wine cup. “It gladdens my heart to know that he’s dead and Matto alive.”
Branna refilled the cup for her, then perched on the side of the bed. With a deep sigh of her own, Galla sat down in the other chair. Branna realized that they were both watching Adranna as if she were an invalid who might at any moment go into convulsions or manifest some other alarming symptom.
“What happened to that other letter?” Galla said. “The one Oth gave you.”
“Here.” Adranna pulled the silver tube from her kirtle and tossed it to Branna. “You can read it, if you would. I don’t even recognize the seal.”
“It’s a rose,” Branna said. “I’ll wager it’s from Prince Dar or Dallandra.”
It was indeed from the Westfolk prince by the hand of his own scribe, whose letters were shaky, Branna noticed, not half as nice as her Neb’s. The note, however, was the very soul of courtliness, expressing sympathy for the lady in her bereavement. He went on to say that he’d “taken charge of some jewelry which was found in the women’s hall,