The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [163]
I was embarrassed at the tears rolling down his cheeks. So I said nothing. After all, if I hadn’t done what I could, who would have?
“We need a wedding soon, while Destrin can still appreciate it.”
“Have you asked him?”
I shrugged. “No. I was afraid to upset him.”
“Let me come back with you. Better now than later. Ask him while I am there.”
Brettel washed the sawdust off his face and uncovered forearms, changed from his leather apron into a linen shirt, and mounted a black mare—all in the time it took me to drink a glass of redberry.
We rode back together. Thankfully, we saw no more of the prefect’s troops.
LV
DESTRIN SAT IN the armchair, his face gray-hued under the pallor, but without the deadly blue of the morning.
“I brought an old friend,” I said, but didn’t get any further in my explanation.
“Godpapa!” Deirdre didn’t quite shriek as she saw the mill-master. “It’s been so long.”
“Here to pay your respects to the deceased, Brettel?” Destrin’s voice was waspish.
“No. I’m here to discuss my god-daughter’s future.”
“You can’t foster her. I told you that—”
I touched Destrin’s shoulder and tried to calm him, both physically and by infusing him with a touch of order. “That’s not what he means…”
Destrin leaned back in the chair, but his color was even a shade more gray.
Deirdre looked from me to Brettel and back again, raising her eyebrows.
“May I sit down?” Brettel didn’t wait for an answer, instead lifting one of the straight chairs from the table and setting in on the worn wooden planks directly across from Destrin. “Lerris, get a chair.”
So I did, and I got one for Deirdre, and waited for her to sit down. It was her life we were talking about. She looked from her father to Brettel to me once again, then licked her lips.
“What’s this about my Deirdre?” Destrin’s voice remained sharp.
Brettel looked to me.
I swallowed. “I think that she should consider a marriage proposal…” I began.
“A master hand with wood you are, Lerris. But would you do right by her?”
“No. I wouldn’t. That’s why I’m not asking. My asking for her hand could lead to her death.”
Even Brettel swallowed.
Destrin, surprisingly, didn’t. He did look at me, long. “You’re honest, boy. I won’t say much, but could you answer a question for me?”
I shrugged. “If I can…”
“I’ll try to be indirect. Was your woodcrafter master the only one Dorman respected?”
I had expected something along those lines. Destrin was a poor crafter, but perceptive nonetheless. “If I understand those involved, I think so.”
Destrin sighed. “Had to be. So…you’re proposing for Bostric?”
“Oh…!” Deirdre covered her mouth, but I heard the dismay, and it ripped right through my chest, like one of the prefect’s chaos-swords might have.
“I don’t have any better ideas. I can add some to her dowry, and I have crafted a red-oak dowry chest for her…Before long, I need to leave, or you all could be in danger. Between Bostric’s family and Brettel…in the future…I would hope that would provide…” My words trailed off. I hated making the case for Bostric, and there were lumps in my chest and in my guts. My eyes were blurred.
Yet deep inside, I knew I was not right for Deirdre, but that did not make my task any easier.
“Snnnffff.” Deirdre was blowing her nose.
“Hell of…” Destrin shook his head. “You like her, don’t you?”
“Yes. That’s what makes it harder.”
“You’d outlive her?”
I knew what he was driving at, knew why he was asking.
“Yes, if I survive the next few years. Probably by a lot.”
Brettel nodded, then added, “Why are you asking this?”
“Because I care, and because it’s the only way I can try to protect her, to allow her as much of her own life as possible.”
Both older men looked at each other.
“We’d like to talk for a moment, Lerris…Deirdre…” Destrin’s voice was calm, almost relaxed.
Deirdre stood up as I did. “Papa, Godpapa…” Her voice firmed. “I need to talk to Lerris for a moment—alone. Please