The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [41]
In the morning, as she was coming down for breakfast, she noticed Salamander, standing near the foot of the staircase and idly looking over the great hall. He glanced up, saw her, and bowed.
“Good morrow, gerthddyn,” Branna said. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did, truly. And you?”
“I did, my thanks. I’ve been enjoying the tales you tell. So many of them seem to have dweomer in them.”
“There’s naught like a good marvel to catch your audience’s attention.”
“True spoken. You’ve traveled all over the kingdom, haven’t you?”
“I have.”
“I don’t suppose that you’ve ever come across—oh well, never mind. I don’t mean to be stupid.”
Branna started to turn away, but Salamander caught her by the elbow.
“Real dweomer, you mean?” He was grinning at her.
She pulled her arm free of his lax grasp and hurried away. You dolt! she told herself. You’ve really made a fool of yourself this time! At the honor hearth she risked a glance back, but Salamander had found a place at a table and was devoting himself to his breakfast. At the honor table Mirryn sat alone, slumped in his chair.
“Good morning!” Branna sat down opposite him and smiled.
Mirryn never looked up from his profound study of the table’s edge. His hair, usually a thick smooth brown, looked matted and spiky, as if he’d been running his hands through it out of sheer nerves, and his puffy eyes made Branna wonder if he’d stayed awake all night. A serving lass brought a basket of warm bread and a crock of butter, then trotted off again.
“What is it, Mirro?” Branna said. “You look troubled about somewhat.”
“Do I?” He ducked his head to avoid looking at her and reached for the basket.
“You do. What—”
“I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose, to hear that you don’t want to marry a coward like me.”
“What?” Branna laid both hands on the table and leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”
“My lady mother mentioned that you didn’t want to marry me, and why else, but everyone knows I’m a wretched coward who never rides to war.”
“Oh, don’t be stupid! That’s not it at all.”
“You don’t need to be kind—”
“Do hold your tongue and listen! I told her that it would be like marrying my brother. You can’t possibly want to marry me, anyway.”
“Well, I don’t, truly.” At last he looked at her. “It would be like marrying my sister.”
She burst out laughing, and in a moment he joined her.
“And you’re not a coward,” Branna said at last. “Everyone knows that Uncle won’t let you go to war. It’s not your choice.”
“How do you know that they think such?”
“Because I heard a lot of people talking about it when I was still back with Da. Da and his friends think Uncle Cadryc’s daft when it comes to you.”
Mirryn thought this over while he cut a chunk of bread in half with his table dagger. He handed her one of the pieces.
“Truly?” he said. “You’re not just trying to soothe my feelings?”
“Not in the least! It’s quite true. Butter, please?”
Mirryn slid the crock across to her and thought some more. “My thanks,” he said finally. “That gladdens my heart to hear.”
Branna was about to tell him more, but Cadryc himself was striding over to the table, with Aunt Galla trotting after. Branna rose, curtsied to them both, then sat down again when Galla took her place. For the rest of the meal they chatted about trivial things.
Later that day Salamander sought Branna out. To get a moment’s peace from the busy, dusty ward she had climbed up the catwalk ladders to the top of the dun wall. By leaning between two crenels she could look out on a long green view, striped here and there with the west-flowing streams that would eventually join the Melyn. She was thinking of very little when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, something gleaming. She turned to look, and farther down the catwalk stood the figure of the old man in his ragged clothes, holding out a glowing opal. Branna caught her breath with a gasp, and he disappeared.
Am I seeing things? she wondered. Or is he one of the Wildfolk? Although the figure reminded her of the man named Nevyn that she