The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [29]
“She popped out two sons in four years. That’s all the virtue Da cares about.” Branna heard the venom in her voice and tried to speak more calmly. “He never much liked me, anyway.”
“Now, dear, it’s hard for a true-born warrior like him to show tender feelings.”
“Oh, don’t try to sweeten it! You know that he blames me for my mother’s death. Well, doesn’t he?”
“It’s a hard situation all round.” Galla hesitated. “He did at the time, dear, but I tried to make him see reason.” Again the hesitation. “Not that he did. Oh, it griped my very soul! You nearly died with her, you know, and your poor mother was never very strong anyway.” She collected herself with a little sigh. “Well, you’re here now, and I’m glad you’ve come to me.”
“So am I. I truly am.” Branna crossed to the window and looked out. She could see past the ward and over the dun wall to the green fields and the stream beyond. “It’s even a lovely view. At home I could look out over the cookhouse, and the smoke really was awful.”
“That woman!” Galla rolled her eyes heavenward.
Branna sat down on the broad stone windowsill and leaned out, just slightly, to look up at the sky. A solitary raven was hovering over the dun on outstretched wings. As she watched, she realized that while it looked the size of an ordinary bird, it had to be flying extremely high, because she couldn’t see its eyes or the fine points of its wings. The only explanation could be that it was abnormally large. It flapped and circled, then hovered again, as if it were studying the dun below. She waited, watched, as it repeated the maneuver, but no other ravens flew up to join it, and it never made a sound. Finally, with one last flurry of black wings it flew away, heading north.
“What is it, dear?” Galla said.
Branna drew her head back inside. “Probably naught. A solitary raven, and I thought it was watching us.”
“It was probably just eyeing the stables in the hopes of stall sweepings. They eat the most disgusting things, ravens.”
“True spoken, but this one—I don’t know why, but it chilled my heart. It seemed so large, for one thing.”
“Perhaps it was a rook, not a raven at all.”
“Well, that could be it. Silly of me, I know.” Branna arranged a bright smile. In her chilled heart she doubted very much indeed that the bird she’d seen was a rook or any other natural animal. Yet what else would it be? she asked herself.
“I think we’ve finished here,” Galla said. “Shall we go down to the great hall?”
As they were walking over to the table of honor, Branna noticed Neb, sitting on the servants’ side of the room near a window. In the patch of sunlight that fell onto his table lay sheets of parchment, upon which he was scoring lines with the back of his little penknife against a strip of wood. A fat yellow gnome crouched on the table beside the parchments. It turned its head, leaped to its clawed feet, and began dancing on the parchments. Neb laid down his penknife and swatted at the gnome, who turned and pointed at Branna. Neb raised his head and looked her way. He certainly does see the Folk! she thought. Young, skinny, so completely different from the old man she’d often dreamed about—and yet his ice-blue eyes seemed so familiar that she nearly ran to him, nearly called him by the name she’d given him for her tales: Nevyn.
Neb raised his hand in greeting and smiled at her, as if he were hoping she’d join him, but Aunt Galla beckoned to her, and her cousin Mirryn was already sitting at the honor table. Branna risked a smile Neb’s way, then hurried after her aunt.
Branna passed the afternoon pleasantly, playing Carnoic with Mirryn, chatting with Galla. Lord Veddyn joined Neb at his table and began reciting the list of taxes owed, stumbling every now and then over his faulty memory, so that the scribe could write them down. At each lapse, Galla would stand up and shout corrections Veddyn’s way. Once in a while, as casually as she could manage, Branna would steal a look at Neb. Often enough, she found him looking back. They would both blush