The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [97]
“Ye gods!” Branna could hear her voice shaking in rage. “I hate them both, I swear it! I’ll never marry anyone. I’d rather spend my life in a temple embroidering altar cloths for the Moon Goddess.”
She strode over to the window and leaned out, twisting to see round the nearest shed. There was no sign of either Neb or Gerran. All at once she realized that she would have to face both of them at the feast.
“Maybe I’ll just stay up here and pretend to be ill,” Branna said to the gnome. “I’m not all that hungry anyway.”
But there was a knock at the door, and Aunt Galla called out. “Branna dear, we’re about to serve the food. Are you in there?”
Branna knew that lying to her aunt’s face lay beyond her. “I am,” she called back. “Just combing my hair, and then I’ll be down.”
As Branna hurried downstairs, she was praying that no one had seen the incident ’twixt Gerran and Neb. It finally occurred to her that her aunt and uncle wouldn’t have believed the tale even if someone had seen and reported it. Their scribe, summon a small army of Wildfolk? And the Wildfolk, knock their captain to the ground? As she picked at her food, she kept glancing over to the servants’ side of the great hall. Gerran did come in to eat with his men, but Neb never appeared.
With so many people and so much food packed into the great hall, the air turned stifling in the afternoon’s heat. Branna nearly fell asleep during the long round of ritual toasts to the company. Just as the men were settling down to some serious drinking, she decided that she had to have fresh air or die. She excused herself and left, but just outside the door Gerran caught up with her.
“I want to apologize,” he said. “I’m the one who started that little brawl, and it was dishonorable of me.”
“Well, it was,” Branna said. “But Neb was no better.”
“True-spoken.” Gerran hesitated for a moment. “What did he do? Did you see?”
Branna felt a brief flash of admiration: she’d not expected him to acknowledge his bizarre defeat. “I’m not really sure,” she said. “It all happened so fast. I thought Neb pushed you, and then you tripped on a loose cob blestone.”
“Truly, somewhat like that must have been it.” Gerran shrugged, looked away, looked at the cobbles, glanced at her face, looked away again. “Uh,” he said finally, “I was wondering if—were you going for a walk or suchlike?”
“I was, truly.”
“I want—I mean, may I walk with you?”
“I’ll have to attend upon my aunt in just a little bit. In fact, I probably should go back in—”
“You don’t truly want my company, you mean. I know I’m just common-born—”
“Oh, do hold your tongue about your stupid rank! I don’t care if you grew up in fosterage. You’re still my cousin, aren’t you? A member of my kin and clan.”
“That’s how you think of me, is it?”
Branna hesitated, but it was time for truth. “It is,” she said finally. “You’ve always been like a brother to me, Gerro, an elder brother I look up to and honor.”
He winced and turned half-away. She risked laying a hand on his arm. “I’ve heard the most wonderful gossip,” she said. “There’s a highborn lady in Cengarn who favors you mightily.”
“Don’t be stupid! What would Lady Solla want with the likes of me?”
“Hah! You’ve noticed her interest, have you?”
“I’ve noticed naught. I’d suggest, my lady, that you not listen to gossip.” With that he pulled his arm away from her lax touch and strode off.
The gray gnome popped into manifestation, smiling and dancing back and forth in front of her. “You approve, do you?” Branna whispered. “Well, poor Gerro! Let’s go find my aunt.”
They found Lady Galla readily enough. She was going upstairs to the women’s hall, and Branna joined her. They settled themselves by a window that let in the last of the summer daylight and picked up their sewing, hurrying to get a few more stitches done before dark.
“Where’s Omaena?” Branna said.
“Taken to her bed,” Galla said. “She tires easily these days, or so she says.”
“I see. You know, I’m truly glad now that Solla is coming to stay with us.”
“So am