The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [39]
Neb woke to find himself cold-sick and shaking. He lay in bed and listened to his heart pounding while he wondered if he had caught some fever, maybe the same one that had killed his mother. He felt cold, but the palms of his hands were sweaty, and he was gasping for breath. It took him some time to realize that rather than being ill, he was terrified. The dream and the voice lingered in his mind like an evil omen.
Beside him Clae slept in motionless peace. Neb slipped out of bed and walked to the window. Beyond it the Snowy Road of stars hung close and bright in the cloudless sky. The most beautiful lass in all Deverry. Who was she? Why do I think I know her? At last the strangest thought of all came to him: why am I so sure she’s dead? He could answer none of those questions, and soon he was tired enough to go back to bed and fall straight asleep.
In the morning, as he was going down the staircase for breakfast, he saw Branna walking across the great hall. The words sounded in his mind again: you should have recognized her. The fear returned, one quick stab of it, like an icicle to the heart, then passed, leaving him bewildered.
Gerran finished his breakfast porridge quickly, his mind full of his duties for the day. As he was heading out the door of the great hall, he met Lady Branna coming in. Technically, thanks to his fostering, she was his cousin. She’d been a frequent visitor to Cadryc’s old dun and demesne back to the east of this new rhan, but then she’d only been a shabby little child in the care of a servant. He’d hardly noticed her. The sight of her now, a young woman, bright and attractive, surprised him every time he saw her. When he started to bow, she laughed at him.
“What?” she said, grinning. “Am I such a fine lady now? Honestly, Gerro, after all these years!”
“A very fine lady indeed,” he said. “And a lovely one.”
Branna blushed profoundly and hurried past him, heading for the staircase. Gerran glanced back to see Lady Galla standing halfway up the stairs and watching with a small smile. Rather than blush himself, he went outside to the safety of his men’s company. But as he jogged out to the stables, he was thinking of the truth of his remark. Little Branna had grown into a lovely lass indeed.
“Well, you know, dear,” Lady Galla said. “For a lass in your position, Gerran wouldn’t be a bad match. He’s our foster son, after all, and your Uncle Cadryc favors him highly.”
“So I’ve noticed, my lady.”
“What do you think of him?”
Branna ran her needle into the cloth and looked at Galla. They were sitting and sewing up in the women’s hall, a half-round room with a polished wood floor, partially covered with a pair of threadbare Bardek carpets, and walls of dressed stone, hung here and there with faded tapestries. The morning light streamed in through the window and fell across the pale linen, stretched in a wooden frame, that eventually would become the first panel of her bed hangings.
“Gerran’s very handsome,” Branna said at last. “And his heart’s closed up as tight as a miser’s money box.”
“That’s true. He’s had a hard life, losing his mother and father that way.”
“You know, there’s one thing I’ve never understood. His mother—why did she drown herself? Did she love her man as much as all that?”
“She did, but truly, I think she would have survived her grief if it weren’t for one thing. The night before the warband left, she told me, she and her man had fought about somewhat—I forget what, some little thing—and when the warband rode out, she was still ever so angry. She never got the chance to tell him that she forgave him and end the quarrel. And that’s what tipped the balance.”
“I see. That’s awfully sad.”
“It was, and so I felt that the least I could do was care for her little son, but you know, it was odd about Gerran. He was so aware of being different, no matter how welcome I tried to make him feel.”
“Different? You mean because he’s not noble-born?”
“Exactly. You know your