The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [98]
“Did you see us talking?”
“I didn’t. But I saw him follow you out, then come right back glowering like a summer storm.”
“Well, I did tell him it was hopeless. I just can’t marry him. I may be a warrior’s daughter, but I don’t want to marry someone dark and grim. I had enough of that with Da.”
“No doubt, dear. I really do understand.”
“My thanks, then. But what about Solla? Will she be able to marry a man like Gerro? After all, she’s a gwerbret’s sister, and she’s the chatelaine of his dun.”
“She’s chatelaine now, certainly. But Solla’s right: Ridvar will have to marry and quite soon, and no doubt his wife won’t want another woman giving her servants orders and suchlike. As for Gerro’s lack of rank,” Galla hesitated, frowning at her line of stitches, “well, that might present a problem. It would be to Ridvar’s advantage if she married some highly placed lord, someone at court, say, or even our Mirryn.” She looked up, still frowning. “Though, with Gerran captain here—well, she wouldn’t do at all for Mirryn’s wife.”
“True-spoken. But Ridvar’s got two other sisters. Isn’t one of them already married to someone important?”
“She is, indeed.” Galla smiled again. “The high king’s equerry down in Dun Deverry. A very important man, truly. And if young Ridvar should ask the king for an army, no doubt she’ll argue in her brother’s favor. His younger sister’s quite lovely, and in a few years she’ll be able to make a good match, too.”
“So Solla might have more choice than some?”
“Indeed, she might. After all, Gerran won’t be in any position to ask for a dowry.”
The light in the room was fading as the sun sank to the horizon outside. Branna folded her sewing and laid it in her work basket. “Shall I go fetch some fire from the great hall?”
“Please do, dear.” Galla ran her needle into the cloth. “It’s time to light the candles, and that’s quite enough sewing.”
In the great hall the men were still at their drinking, but Neb wasn’t among them. Branna lit her lantern at the servants’ hearth and carried it back upstairs. She saw no sign of Neb on the stairs or in the corridors, either. Now that she knew she’d not have to explain the peculiar fight to her aunt and uncle, her anger had faded, and she could think clearly again. A scribe’s son, but he can command the Wildfolk—do I truly know this man? Yet deep in her soul she felt that she’d never known anyone better.
Eventually Lady Omaena rejoined Galla and Branna in the women’s hall. Since her aunt now had company for the evening, Branna pleaded a headache and left them. As she was approaching the door to her chamber, her gray gnome appeared, grinning and dancing up and down.
“What is it?” Branna whispered.
The gnome turned and walked through the door. First he stuck a skinny little foot into the wood like a swimmer testing the temperature of a pond, then an arm, and finally, grinning at her all the while, he inserted the rest of himself into the wood and disappeared. Branna had seen him do tricks such as this before; she merely rolled her eyes and opened the door to find the room bathed in golden light. With a little gasp she shut the door and leaned back against it.
Neb was waiting for her, perched on the windowsill. The gnome trotted over to him and pointed a bony finger.
“You might as well blow that candle out,” Neb said. “We shan’t need it.”
Branna set the darkened lantern down on the floor, then looked up, gazing at the ceiling, where a glowing ball of gold hung like a tiny sun. She should have been amazed, she knew, but the light seemed the most ordinary thing in the room. Its presence had turned the bed, the walls, her dower chest into strange and unexpected objects, so intensely foreign that for a moment she wondered if she’d gotten into the wrong chamber.
“The light,” Branna whispered. “How did you do that?”
“I didn’t. The Wildfolk did it when I asked them.”
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
“I had to apologize. It was stupid of me, baiting Gerran like that.”
He sounded so contrite that she condescended