The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [89]
“My thanks,” she said at last. “All my life, I’ve had such vivid dreams. They carried over from night to night, too. I’d go to the same places and talk with the same people. And one of them was an old man with your eyes, and his name’s much like yours. Nevyn, it was.”
“But that means ‘no one.’ ” Neb started to laugh, then let his voice trail away.
“It means somewhat to you?”
“It does, but cursed if I know how or why.”
By sylph light she could see him frowning; then he shrugged the problem away.
“Are your dreams like that?” Branna said. “Like tales, mine were, or even more like memories. I was so lonely, you see, and so I used to work them up like embroideries. I’d have a hazy little dream—that would be like the drawing on the cloth. Then when I’d wake up, I’d fill it in. Then the next night, the dream would be like the tale I’d made out of it, and go on from there.”
“What sort of things did you dream of? Besides the old man, I mean.”
“Oh, well, childish things, I suppose. Like dweomer. I could work dweomer in my dreams, and even turn myself into a bird and fly.”
“I wish I had dreams like that. Most of mine are dull. That’s why I can remember the ones with you in them. They stand out, like.”
“What are—” She broke off, turning to listen, and Neb rose to his knees.
Down in the ward someone was calling for Neb—a high-pitched boy’s voice.
“My brother,” Neb said wearily. “Here, we’d best go down.”
“I suppose so, but can we talk more some other time?”
“My lady, I’d like naught better.”
They stood up, and Branna retrieved the lantern, its candle dead and cold. “I shouldn’t have blown that out,” she said. “It’s going to take a bit of doing, getting down that rickety ladder in the dark.”
Neb held out his hand and snapped his fingers. The candle wick glowed, then caught, leaping into golden light. Branna gasped aloud.
“How did you do that?” she said.
“Ye gods.” Neb sounded terrified. “I don’t know.”
In the lantern’s dappled light they stared at each other. Branna wanted to speak, to acknowledge and discuss what had happened, but she could see the raw fear in Neb’s eyes.
“Neb!” It was Clae’s voice again, yelling at the top of his lungs. “There you are! What are you doing on the roof?”
Neb trotted over to the edge and held the lantern up high. “Just getting a little air,” he bellowed. “Oh, very well, I’ll come down.”
Neb helped Branna down the ladder from the roof, escorted her to her chamber, then took the lantern and hurried down the stone staircase to the great hall. He was wondering if Clae would tell everyone that he’d seen his brother with Lady Branna, but Clae was so full of his own news that it seemed he’d never noticed. He came running over the moment Neb stepped off the stairs.
“Guess what?” Clae was grinning, his eyes bright and wide. “It’s about the tourney.”
Neb could have cheerfully strangled him. “The tourney?” he snapped. “You brought me all the way down here for some news about the stupid tourney?”
Clae shrank back, the smile gone, and raised a hand as if he feared Neb would slap him.
“Well?” Neb snapped. “What is it?”
“I’m going to get to be in it, that’s all. I suppose it doesn’t seem like much to you.”
His voice ached with so much hurt that Neb’s anger turned to shame. “Oh, here, I’m sorry,” Neb said. “It’s the wretched hot weather. It’s making me as nasty as a springtime bear.”
Clae shrugged and looked down at the floor.
“Tell me more,” Neb said. “Surely Gerran’s not going to have you facing off with the warband.”
“He’s not.” Clae looked up. “Coryn and I are going to get to fight. Coryn’s been practicing for years, and I’ve only just started, but the captain says that I’m good enough already that we can fight in the tourney.”
“Ye gods! Well, that’s an honor, indeed.” Neb thought of their father and of what he would have said. “You must be blasted proud. I know I am.”
The grin returned like a blaze of sunlight. “I sort of am.” Clae’s voice trembled against this forced modesty. “The captain says I’ve got a cursed lot left to learn.”
“Most likely, but I don’t doubt that