The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [24]
“Let’s go to my chamber,” Val said. “It’ll be quiet there.”
As they walked through the muddy streets, Dallandra marveled at the town around them. Out in the grass few trees grew. Traders had hauled in some timber in return for the salt that the townsfolk harvested from the sea. The farmers had dug stones from their new fields and collected driftwood from the beaches to build a strange collection of squat, thatch-roofed cottages. Most of the walls stood at odd angles; some bristled with assemblages of random driftwood. Smoke from the hearths and lime from the sea birds stained roofs and walls. Behind most houses, cows and chickens lived in shelters built of blocks of cut sod. A whiff of sewage hung in the air. Still, the men and women who lived in those houses weren’t Roundears, a marvel in itself. They’re my people, Dallandra thought, but they know things we’ve forgotten for a thousand years.
“It’s still small,” Valandario said, “but we’re expecting several boatloads of new settlers by the autumn.”
“We?” Dallandra asked, smiling.
“I’ve become part of the town, yes, at least for the winters.”
“I’m going to need you to come with us when we leave.”
“And I’m ready to ride, or at least, I will be once I finish packing up my things. Don’t worry about that.” Val paused for a glance around. “But I’m hoping to come back in the autumn.”
The house in which Valandario was staying was a grander affair than most, two stories high, the lower of stone, the upper of timber planks, with proper wooden shutters at every window and a slate roof. Inside the fenced yard, chickens pecked and squawked in the spring greenery. Although she couldn’t see it, Dallandra could smell a cow as well.
“Your hosts must be prosperous people,” Dallandra said.
“Yes, they’re the town potters,” Valandario said. “The kiln’s round back, and their shop’s on the ground floor. And Jin’s teaching some apprentices how to make pabrus, too, as well as how to throw pots.” She pointed to the side of the house. “We’ll go up the side stairs here.”
The creaky wooden stairs led to an off-kilter door of planks laced together with rope. Val opened it and ushered Dallandra inside to the kitchen, a big room with a brick hearth at one end, a long table in the middle, and crates and barrels along a side wall. Doorways led to various rooms, including the Wise One’s. Just like her old tent, Valandario’s chamber gleamed with bright colors on the walls and on the floor. Blankets and a pile of cushions lay on the narrow bed jammed against one wall.
“Do sit down.” Valandario waved at the bed. “You look like you could use a rest. Is the baby due soon?”
“A pair of months.” Dallandra sat down with a sigh of gratitude. “About. I’m not sure when exactly. Probably she’ll come at the most inconvenient moment.”
“Babies seem to, yes. I know this is practically treason to our kind, but I’m glad I never had one.”
“Well, I’m hoping that things work out better for this soul than they did the last time he was born. I won’t abandon him this time, for one thing.”
Valandario stared at her with abruptly cold eyes. “Are you saying that it’s Loddlaen?” Her voice dwindled to a whisper on the name.
Too late, Dallandra remembered who had murdered Valandario’s only lover. Val stood so still that it seemed she’d stopped breathing, waiting for the answer. From outside came the noise of the inhabitants returning to their town after greeting the prince— laughter, chatter, snatches of song, the barking of dogs and the high-pitched shrieks of children.
“I won’t lie to you,” Dallandra said at last. “Yes, it is, but she— and notice that I said she—she’ll wear a different personality this time around.”
“Of course.” Val turned away and walked over to the window. “Forgive me!” She paused again, while the everyday noises from outside seemed to mock old griefs. “It would be a terrible thing